The Darkest Hour
by Ericee
Summary: The Apocalypse has happened and the Daybreakers have fallen. Now, living under an oppressive regime where cries go unheard, several characters as different as dawn, day, dusk and night come together in a chance to rebel and free themselves.
1. Chapter 1

Venom looked up at the sky.

She didn't know why she looked at it. And she really shouldn't. It was the type of thing every mother warned her pretty maiden daughter of her. Then again, She wasn't a pretty maiden, and she didn't have a mother. But she was smart enough to know that looking at the sky was considered a death wish between humans. Why? Dark giants make their way up there at night.

At this precise moment, there was a swarm of them.

She really, _really_ shouldn't be out alone.

Again, there was no _in_ for her. Her mother, her adoptive witch mother, had kicked her out. And her birth mother didn't, and probably doesn't, give a damn about her. Homes wasn't a word she recognized since she estranged herself from her human companions. Shelter would be a better word. She could go to an inn, of course; but chances are there would be many Vampires there, and, anyway, she didn't have the money.

Or any money to be precise.

So here she was, sitting on a rock, gazing at the sky.

Although there were swarms and swarms of cold-blooded serpents, she always felt relax when she looked up at the sky. A Dragon's shadow was enough for all hell to break loose. She'd heard it in pathetic human communities when someone mentioned the word 'Dragon' all the others looked over their shoulders and told him to hush.

Of course, she wasn't exactly a Human. Not a full one at least.

Half and Half isn't something very common. She was, by all means, a Dhampir.

Half and Half meant you were an abomination, a freak, something that wasn't suppose to exist. There aren't many Humans or Night Worlders that sympathize with Dhampirs, if any. They were considered a mutant baby. Something that should have been drowned at birth.

They were classified as '_Things_' not even as '_Beings_'.

"Well, well," A taut, amused voice interrupted her thoughts. "What have we here?"

She stood and turned around. She gulped, signifying her fear for all to see. Though the dragon could probably smell it in the air he breathed. She stood up and took a step back, almost falling off the ledge. If it weren't for her Dhampir instincts, she probably would have. Being a Dhampir had it's merits.

"Are you lost?" He said, still amused at her fear.

_Run, idiot._

Rationality should have won. She was a rational person. She lost her belief in God a long time ago. And just like that, her ideas of being fearless and idiotically brave were washed away, too. The only thing that mattered was staying alive. But she couldn't move, she's seen shadows of dragons all the time. And she'd probably seen Dragons in human form around her. But seeing a dragon in front of her was just beyond scary.

_For God's sake, I'm such a coward. He's not even in his **true form.**_

It was true he wasn't. He was wearing a skin of a human boy. Young, in his mid-twenties probably, With dark hair and caramel skin. She'd heard that Dragons liked to be handsome in any form. But his eyes gave him away. There was nothing Human in them.

"No," She said shaking. "I'm not, actually."

"Then what are you doing outside, little girl?" He asked in a tender voice. She had seen enough of the world to recognize superficiality when she saw it. And he was fake, everything about him was fake and mustered with cruel.

She noticed he'd taken a step towards her. His dark hair fell over his eyes.

"Nothing you should be concerned for." She said shakily, her words became a whisper after '_nothing_' but he heard her alright.

The Dragon threw his head back and laughed.

_Run, now._

_Run._

She did.

She did run away, it was, after all, the only sane thing to do. Being a coward and standing there while a Dragon laughed at you and was preparing to eat you was beyond stupidity. And she was not stupid.

If she wasn't stupid, she probably wouldn't have ran. Because it would have been much easier if she became the coward she is inside, and asked the dragon to kill her first, fast and mercifully. Of course, it would be odd. Since Dragons aren't merciful creatures. But she really couldn't help it. She was still part human, and that part of her mind did everything in its power to keep her alive. Even if it meant fleeing like a coward.

The dragon caught up with her in no time. She may be a Dhampir, but he still was a Dragon.

His wings were outstretched, but he was still the human boy, she didn't know that was possible.

His wings were black and that of a bat, Admittedly she did like the wings of a bate, they were oddly pretty to her in a way. And right now, The Dragon looked like a Dark Angel in the moonlight.

He smiled, and his eyes twinkled. "Bye Bye, dearest."

The next instant, he was in front of her, placing both of his hands on her neck. The human shape he took was a whole head taller then her, she had to look up to meet his eyes. He allowed that much, but his arms never did let go of her neck. She was staring into his eyes and saw the pitiless, empty snake inside. He snapped her neck, without one scream.

He was happy with himself, He'd gotten himself dinner that didn't make much noise when she was killed. And now his dinner laid in his arm, limp and dead.


	2. Chapter 2

Sandra, a supposedly friend of Venom's, didn't feel particularly bad for Venom's death on a personal level. She felt bad because Venom gave some hope to this hopeless community that decreased in its numbers. Sandra personally didn't like Venom very much, but she was an extraordinary hunter and a good strategist, when she would bother to come out of her depressive states.

Sandra sighed as she leaned against a cushion she was privileged enough to have. Most people here slept on straw beds. She lived in a small village owned by the neighboring manor's Overlord. He owned the land from his manor to the end of the forest and everything in it, even her. She was a slave of his and was to do as her vampire Master commanded. But this vampire had a peculiar dislike of leaving his manor too much, even if it was to flaunt his elevated status in front of them as other vampires enjoyed doing so. She heard he was somewhat of a Literature scholar, preferring to study old human Literature than venture towards adventures like his stupider and riskier blood-drinking brethren.

For her, it meant that she was free… somewhat.

There were guards surrounding the village; no human was left walking unsupervised or unobserved. There would always be a shape-shifter or a werewolf keeping his watchful eye on her if she made her way to her Grandma's or if she ran to the emergency room, bloodied and stabbed. They would never interfere unless they had direct orders from the Overlord of the land.

However, there remained times when these watchful guards weren't very watchful; times when they grew drowsy, tired or distracted. In these rare times, she would escape to secret meetings where she and the few brave enough would discuss rebellion in hushed voices. Venom used to be a part of this group and, whenever she wasn't being snarky or depressed, she would be a great contributor as she had more freedom to move around. Venom was not dominated by vampire nor limited by humanity. She used to instill hope in them, even though she claimed she wasn't hopeful at all, when they thought they should just accept their father. She would say kind words truthfully. Sandra hoped that she would be the mouthpiece of their group if their hushed whispers had ever risen to actions that required masses of angry, charged people. She had hoped too much, apparently.

A sudden and loud drumming sound distracted her from her thoughts. A herald come to have announced something. She stood up to see what was to be announced. Human heralds announced news that the vampires and dragons wouldn't bother to themselves. Human heralds but not the 'shifting eunuchs, something that peaked her interest as she had never seen a guard speak. She wondered if they had their tongues cut when they were younger.

The herald, a flustered fellow who felt overwhelmed by the eyes trained on him, rolled open a piece of scroll and read aloud.

"Folks of this good town, be ready to receive a guest. Esteemed and very gracious, Lord Sastra would be making his presence between you. The Overseer of the neighboring Lady's land, his approval would put out her wrath. Treat him well and kindly before I'm ready to take him into my care."

With a nervous bow, the drummer and herald turned and left on their horses, the eunuchs closing the gates of the manor behind. They left her peers in the midst of hurried conversation. Quickly, the elders decided where he was to live; the nicest house in the village, the mayor's. Soon, they all picked the girls he was to make meal of or the boys, depending on his mileage. They planned entertainment for him; scantily dressed girls dancing. Most of the decisions that were made didn't include her, which was alright with her as she didn't want to dance scantily clad, but the elders decided that she would share her rooms with the mayor's daughter when the Overseer took into the mayor's house. She had no complaint with that and nor did the mayor's daughter.

This did deter her a bit, though. She needed to meet with her fellow rebels tonight. They weren't aware of Venom's death and she had to tell them. But she wouldn't be able to. Too bad, it'll have to wait.

She headed off to her tent, humming a dead tone.

"It's amazing!" the mayor's daughter, Audrey, claimed, hand over her heart.

Sandra grumbled under her breath. She was feeling moody beyond belief because of last night's sleep, or lack thereof, and the nightmares about Venom dying and having to face dragon that she had to endure, only to be awakened by loud trumpets and obnoxious musicians when her dreams were becoming blissfully scant. She didn't bother to dress too well, putting on the first dress she saw. She made her way outside to watch the man that had ruined her sleep approach in his grand chariot. The colorful thing rolled in with more than an extraordinary number of humans prancing around in ridiculous outfits, playing loud abominations that she so cursed.

Sandra could see very well that this man paid some attention to his human slaves and it wasn't the kind of attention she would wish to get.

Behind the jolly chariot and human dancers, a white carriage humbly followed. It was very small and had only one window. No one in the village spared it a glance, but it caught Sandra's attention as she met an enchanting pair of eyes of violet-blue, but the possessor of the enchanting eyes quickly dropped a silken whit curtain between them.

The colorful chariot stopped and so did its walking, dancing ornament. A blonde man came out, draped in a white silky robe that reached the ground. Audrey, chosen to welcome him, made her towards him, wearing violets in every meaning of the word; she smelled of violets, was dressed in a violet dress and had violets twirled into her black hair. She shyly presented the man with a meager collection of fruits and gifts the villagers could provide for. Everyone watched the blonde man, but Sandra's eyes trained on a pair of long boots worn by trousers clad legs that came out of the chariot. A man dressed in black as his partner was dressed in white stood contrastingly behind him, while the poor Mayor's girl looked from man to man, trying to decide who was the Overseer. The blonde man laughed enchantingly and loud enough that reached her ears at the far back of the crowd. He told her that he was the Overseer, accepting the basket of gifts. Just as he said this, another man came out of the carriage. Another blonde, but less happy and jolly and more grim and scarred like the man wearing the black trousers. She hadn't seen a vampire other than her Master on his occasional visits to the small village. Her eyes zeroed on the aloof men, wondering about what was their story and reason for coming. Sensing her, the man in the trousers turned to her and, at her bold stare, passed her an insolent salute, making her narrow her eyes.

"We're very glad to have you here," said the mayor, lying through his gritted teeth. "It really is an honor."

"Oh my good man," said Sastra smilingly, hiding an unsavory demon underneath the cool exterior. "It is me who should be honored, really."

John Quinn, who you better refer to as Quinn, felt his lip curl up in disgust. He was sitting next to his very old friend and nemesis, Ash, who was just as disgusted at Sastra's display as he was, but he was actively participating in it, telling the old man that having dancers was just too much on his part.

_A Vampire's gotta do what a Vampire's gotta do._ Ash would say through gritted teeth.

Life had changed them into such bitter men.

Although, Quinn wasn't quite sure how you would refer to his breathing now. Life or unlife? Considering that he had been human once upon a time and now basic needs which humans have are immune to him, one would say unlife. More overly, Quinn didn't really care. He didn't care about much, not since Rashal died.

He gave the silver chord a hopeless tug, feeling the emptiness of Rashal's side.

Sastra had bidden the Mayor farewell and was beginng to drink the wine that had been produced by many humans' blood and sweat, while watching poor girls dancing poorly. Sastra was a man easy to please; alcohol, women and power. Dreadfully boring pleasure, if one would ask Quinn.

Having no interest in watching scantily-dressed girls that look like they might start crying, Quinn excused himself from Sastra's presence and made to venture outside of the mayor's home. Ash, he thought would follow, but his blonde friend had decided to remain with easily pleased one and probably easily please him at the same time. Ash seemed to have something on his mind that he desired and Sastra was just the man to get it from.

The night was quiet, except for the almost silent weeping he heard coming from one or two houses. Mothers, he thought, weeping for their daughters. Quinn's heart, which had been long since melted from its icy confines; thanks to Rashal, tugged tightly and he tried to ignore the feeling. This was no longer the human world, there was no Circle Daybreak and Rashal was dead, he couldn't let pity override him now. He wouldn't survive a minute in a world like this if he was to give into such pitiful things as pity.

To distract himself, he looked at the tent in which Sastra's concubine resided. Confined to a lavish tent, just as she was confined to the harem, the redhead was quite odd. Brionwy, he believed her name to be, seemed to have much more of a fight in her than any other concubine he had come across and he had seen many of them. Vampires would bring their favorites on trips and everyone had them, even Ash. Brionwy was like a candle, she wouldn't be able to fire up on her own but she if she was lightened, she would burn to the end.

Concubines were one thing that Quinn never bade his time with, mostly because he couldn't reproduce and even if he could; he would never condemn a child into this sort of misery. He had enough power and status to have a harem full of Beauties, but he'd rather have his slaves make things and build castle, while getting good food. He'd imagined that he would've done the same even if he was evil and insane and the heir of Hunter Redfern, he didn't have a particular liking to women other than Dove and Rashal.

Dove, sweet and little, died just after he became a vampire. He had gone to his father, a Christian minister, like a pig walking to the slaughter. His father thought it his duty as any other good Christian to caste out evil and sin wherever he saw it, and the vampire Quinn had fitted his description of evil and sin quite perfectly. His own father's hand killed dove and the man transformed his son's bleeding heart into an icy, unforgiving glacier. After that, destiny had decided that he hadn't been punished enough for God knows what horrible crime he'd committed in a last life, so then came Rashal, bold and tall. She had been a vampire hunter and the best one at that. Quick, efficient and hurt, like him. She had captured his icy heart the first time they met, although they both denied it and wanted to kill each other; he had held her in his arms until she died.

Then, he and Ash defected from Circle Daybreak, realizing that it was futile to fight in the name of good. They were welcomed back with open arms. Everyone still remembered him as Quinn; merciless, unforgiving and the heir of Hunter Redfern, a more-than-slightly insane vampire bent on _becoming_ the Apocalypse. Ash was immortalized in his powerful, sly and womanizing ways; not to mention, he was a direct descendant of Hunter Redfern himself.

Now, Quinn had become the Overlord of a land thats name escapes him a the moment and he was extremely, extremely bored with his life. No Dove, no Rashal, no Apocalypse.

He looked around himself, desperately trying to see something unusual or interesting; but all he could see was that the guards were being lazy, not something new and definitely not something interesting. Some were openly sleeping and others could barely keep their eyes open. He condemned the Overlord of this state for the reckless management, but then scolded himself for caring.

A snap of a branch and a small gasp was all that it took to change his life and his I-can't-give-a-damn-even-if-I-want-to attitude.

He became, unlike the drowsy guardsmen, alert as a cat. His eyes widened; the dim light of the crescent moon being as bright, and not nearly as annoying, as sunlight to vampire eyes. He heard shallow breaths taken as quietly as a human could. His eyes examined the hedges and ledges and after tracing the perpetrator carefully, he saw a girl's figure making it through a pair of sleeping guards. He followed her quickly, efficiently and almost effortlessly. Feeling his instincts as a hunter come alive in the pursuit of a chase, he smiled his unnerving smile for the first since Rashal's death. The girl soon felt his presence and took steps quicker than the last, finally breaking out in a run. He felt the desire to howl joyfully, but he still followed her briskly; vampires needn't take shallow breaths nor did they become unbelievably reckless when they moved quickly. It was soon that the girl had thought she'd lost him, but she still took a few minutes before she stopped. At last, the girl, unaware of his presence, stopped and turned to look around her, making sure of her surroundings. That was when he pounced like a tiger waiting for prey.

He was immediately met with resistance; the girl lashed out to him, struggling vainly. After forcing her hands above her head and straddling well her well, he said disdainfully. "Struggling will do you no good, human."

The girl flipped her hair of her face as her last movement of struggle and glared at him. It was then that he finally had a good look of the girl. He had, correctly, thought her to be the bold girl who had stared him when others would dare not meet his eyes. A frumpy girl, he judged her to be, the kind that no vampire would take as a concubine; and, apparently, she was a frumpy girl with no sense of conversation as she didn't mutter a single word while he stared at her.

"Tell me," he said, baring his teeth in a smile. "Where are you going, little girl?"

"It really is none of your business," she replied coolly. "And I'm not a little girl."

Quinn forced a short laugh at that. "Believe me, you don't make a fiftieth of what I have lived."

"Let me go," she said. "You're bruising my wrist."

So he was. He softened his grip. "How am I to know you won't run away from me?"

She stared at him blankly. "Because you'll catch up with me," she said. "And I'm smart enough to realize that."

Quinn smiled broadly and a little insanely at her eerily calm tone, carefully devoid of emotion. He let her go, but kept himself in a position that deigned him to spring any way he wished. He watched her as she sat up, rubbing her wrist, and looked at him. "I can't tell you why I'm here," she said honestly. "You can kill me for it."

He didn't want her damn permission to kill her and he decided he wouldn't do that. "I'm not going to kill you for it," he said evenly.

She stared at him, unblinkingly. "Well, then you're going to hand me over to the guards? I'll lie to them."

The question came out without his direction. "What's your name?"

"Sandra," she looked at him oddly. "Why do you care?"

He didn't really know. "Because I do," he offered as an excuse. "I'm John Quinn."

"Hello, John Quinn."

"Hello Sandra."

And that was what they had for conversation for the first few moments.

Quinn watched the frumpy girl watch him. She was still rubbing at her wrists and it seemed as if she all her worry was directed to getting it rid of the pain. But Quinn couldn't bring himself to believe that. So he bore his black eyes into hers and tried his best to see into her mind but he found a barrier he couldn't pass no matter how much he pressured against it. Frustrated, he glared at the unmoving girl and said through teeth bared in a grimace. "Believe me, I'm going to find out why you're here one way or the other, and I don't really like waiting."

"My mother told me to be aware of men who said believe me."

"Don't change the subject!" Quinn yelled in spite of himself. "Why are you here?"

She had removed her eyes from his and looked to be appropriately embarrassed. "I wanted to poach," she mumbled, staring at the ground. "To get meat for the black market."

Poaching was strictly against the law. Everything, living or not, belonged to the Master of an estate. If he wanted to feed his human slaves, he would, if he didn't, then there was no shame in that. So poaching would be stealing and it valified the death penalty. Quinn narrowed his eyes as he remembered all of this.

"You're not a very good actress," he said in a tone that he hadn't used in a while; a deadly, soft sound that promised a world of chaos. "And I do wonder, what could be so important, so _illegal_, that you would rather claim that you were poaching and dealing in the black merhcantry."

Sandra lowered her head more so and didn't answer.

"Look at me," he commanded, planning to try to pry into her mind again.

When she didn't, Sandra found herself pushed to the surface of a rough tree that scratched her back. He held her a few feet above the ground with only one hand, forcing her chin upwards with his other.

"When I give an order, human," he bit out. "I expect you to comply."

Deciding that there was no way she could answer without getting herself in more trouble; Sandra looked away, wishing him to go. But the vampire was one of the most stubborn bastards she had the misfortune of meeting. He kept staring at her, trying to decode her shielded mind.

After a few moments of this ridiculously childish behavior, she sighed, he sighed and he lowered her to the ground, making her sit. He sat down in front of her and said. "You tell me why you're here and I won't tell anyone about it."

_Very, very tempting._ She thought, after all who would want to spend their whole life arguing with a vampire just as pigheaded as them. But she shook her head anyway. "You're lying."

"It's unwise to make false accusations," he said, brushing imaginary lint away from his vest.

Feeling patronized, she adamantly pushed her view further. "How do I know you're not lying?"

With every sincerity in his voice, he said. "Because there is no reason for me to lie. I would gain nothing through your execution and I doubt what you were doing would be any major problem, really." he said it in loud tones of questioning her capabilities, which made her feel even more patronized.

She could be responsible or respond to the childish insistence inside of her that claimed that she was capable of starting rebellion. She, of course, chose the former. "Fine. There is no winning way for me, I suppose."

"Believe me, this way both of us win."

So she told him. "I'm here for to meet with rebels," she said, watching his face carefully for signs of alarm or disgust or anything, really. But, first, he merely sat there, looking at her ponderingly. Then, the insufferable idiot began to laugh as if it was his last laugh. It wasn't the short, joyless laugh he had forced out earlier . This laugh was amused, genuine and a little insane, like everything else about him.

Patronized yet again by the insufferable one in black, she sat quietly as he finished laughing.

"I'm sorry," he rushed breathlessly. "Do tell me more."

Seeing no alternative, Sandra told him the hows, whens and whys of her little group. It wasn't much of a story, a few years ago, she was sent to pick flowers for the vampire Master's party and she met a teenager who wasn't from her village. Dark eyes, dark hair and dark smiles, the teenager told her that he was there to poach, which made little, rule-abiding Sandra gasp. This teenager, named Morgead, had told her things about his past: his girlfriend, Jez, and his kid, Lee, for instance. Jez had been killed before the Apocalypse and Lee had died during the war. He was, consequently, left on his own. Sandra and he were somewhat short of a real friendship. They weren't very close, but if one complained to the other about food or freedom, the other would understand and nod. Soon enough, Sandra begun that there were many people who poached in the forest, but weren't really open about it and for good reason. A girl called Gillian would gather herbs, which was classified as poaching. Maggie, a girl with scars and grim faces, lived in the forest with her humorous brother, Miles. Lupe, who Sandra originally thought to be a wolf because she had first seen her in her wolf form, would show up occasionally. Venom, the now dead Dhampir, would be there with a black bandana 'round her head. They would get together sometimes and whisper things about rebellion, Morgead had even tried to teach Sandra fighting techniques, which hadn't really worked with Morgead's short temper and Sandra's abhorrence to using violence as a means to solve things. A tall, blonde boy with deep eyes and dark circles would hang around them occasionally, never speaking, never participating, just standing there, observing.

When she finished her long tale, she took a long breath and readied herself for Quinn's patronizing laughing. But surprisingly, he just stared at her intently with no inch of humor sketched on his face. Then, after long moments of silent staring, he spoke in a surprisingly serious voice. "And they all told you that they were human?"

Sandra furrowed her eyebrows. "I never asked them. Venom was a Dhampir, Lupe's a werewolf and I think Miles is a 'shifter"

His jaw set, his eyes grim, he spoke. "I'm coming with you."

Sandra didn't even bother to question the workings of his insane mind. She stood up, her feet feeling numb, and led him through the forest to where she and her friends had their ensembles usually. Hidden from the eyes of the guardsmen and not very far laid a riverbank. This riverbank became the unofficial place of meeting for this unofficial group of rebels. Morgead would usually be there, poaching for fish.

Morgead was lying there now, looking at the sky. He was dressed in jeans that were ripped not because of fashion but because they had suffered much through life. Sandra took a deep breath, smelling the dead fish next to Morgead and his not-so-nice body odor. He never smelled good, he never smelled bad either; but heaven help up if Morgead ever used any sort of body clones or perfumes. He spoke up, without looking at her. "Don't tell me it's him."

Before she could respond, John Quinn stepped forward. "It's me."

"You bastard!" Morgead said, jumping so fast that she wouldn't believe possible.

Then, her not very friendly companions faced each other, hissing in such ways that made her afraid.


	3. Chapter 3

Sandra was, to say the least, shocked to see Morgead acting as such. Morgead wasn't known for his good humor but he'd never attack anyone out of thin air. But now, he stood, crouching down and glaring John Quinn as if he was the bane of his existence.

Sandra stepped in between and put her hands on each of their shoulders, trying to push them apart. But the boys weren't budging; they ignored her as if she was a fly, which made her angry.

"Guys," she said reprimanding, but her voice was ignored as they hissed on. "GUYS!"

That captured their attention. The awful hissing stopped and they stared at her for a minute or so, before noticing her hands and stepping away from each. Both of them looked properly abashed and they avoided her eyes when she asked. "What the hell is going on here?"

Morgead, ever so impulsive, was first to answer. "This vampie," he said scathingly, as if Quinn deserved no such title. "abandoned us during the Apocalypse. Coward, rotten guy, he is."

Quinn didn't seem too bothered, but he narrowed his eyes. "It wouldn't be prudent, Morgead, to make accusations before hearing my side of the story," he said patronizingly and his mouth curled maliciously. "Though, I can't remember a time when you were prudent."

"Better imprudent than a coward," Morgead said, unwaveringly.

Sandra furrowed her eyebrows. "Wait, you two know each other?"

Quinn gave her a very tired glance. "No. We just have an awful habit of attacking strangers."

Ignoring his sarcasm, she looked at Morgead inquiringly, who shrugged. "We knew each other during the war, see. We were on the same side."

"We still are," said John Quinn dryly but not very sarcastically.

Morgead carried on. "But after his Soulmate died. He thought he'd have a change of heart."

"I was only keeping myself alive," said Quinn defiantly, but he looked away when Morgead met his eyes and muttered. "I'm not very proud of it."

Morgead surprised her just then; he walked over to her and took her hands, pushing her back. "Now," he began when she was a safe distance away from them. "I'm going to kill him."

He lunged towards Quinn who, expecting the attack, moved out of his way in less than a second. Morgead yelled in frustration and charged further at Quinn. Quinn had his compact body in a graceful arch and was meeting Morgead punch for punch and kick for kick, blocking out all of the angered boy's moves. He never used any aggressive stances or attacks and only fought to defend himself.

Sandra knew better than to step between them as they fought, aware she would be ripped to pieces if she did. But she cried, gasped and cringed, hating the fact that she was helpless to stop them. As she watched them wrestling on the ground like wild boars, she caught the sight of a blond head inside the bushes.

Recognizing him, she called out. "Come on! Stop them."

The quiet blond boy soon came out of the bushes. He was standing grimly, a frown on his face. His eyes reflected a darkness that made her shiver. But apparently, he was very good at stopping idiotic boys fight bacause as soon as the word left his lips, her friends stopped struggling on the ground. "Stop."

Morgead looked up and, after seeing who it was, stood up without so much as a glare. Quinn soon followed suit and looked at the blond boy cheerfully, even though his eyes hid a world of grimness behind. "Thierry Descouedres, Lord of the Night World," he said, taking a bow. "Good evening."

She watched Thierry Descouedres with awe; the one who never paid her any attention, the one who she had never heard speak before now, _Lord of the Night World_. It had a certain ring to it and she would never have imagined that he… she suddenly felt very small and very short as she looked at him.

" I'm not the aderent of the title anymore but a good evening to you as well, John Quinn," said he. "It's been a while."

"A century or so, hasn't it?" Quinn said as if all was friendly and sweet between them. "Oh, how time flies."

His sweet tone and cheerful smile did nothing to dampen the gloomy mood passing between the two, even she could feel it. She watched from boy to boy, afraid that they would break into a fight. What would she do then?

But Quinn and Thierry seemed to be far from a fight but far from a hug as well. They both held their bodies rigidly but, from what she knew about fighting, not in an agressive stance. Thierry's eyes, dark and deep, seemed to be stormy as he contemplated Quinn. It was enough to make Sandra realize that Thierry was very, very angry with John Quinn.

"I had been meaning to ask you," Thierry in a voice too steady to be believable. "Did you kill Hannah?"

It seemed to make Quinn shake, but he stood so firmly that she thought it to be a sick trick her mind played on her. Quinn narrowed his eyes and said. "It was done quickly and painlessly."

_Which means you did kill her_, she thought. It wasn't odd to hear about a Night Worlder killing a human, after all, most humans would kill each other to survive. But it still made her heart jolt, mostly because Thierry was white with rage, his eyes stormier than ever.

"Morgead," Thierry's voice was quick and authoritative. "Please, take Sandra away from here."

Quinn only waved at her, as a sign of goodbye. Morgead seemed to have decided that Thierry had more of a claim on Quinn's life as he had stepped forward with a word of complaint. She felt him take her hand and tug to lead her away. But there was something inside her at the moment. A sick sort of feeling of injustice made her stand still and take her hand back from Morgead's.

"Let him go," she said, surprising all three of them. "He's obviously sorry for what he's done."

The trio of hateful enemies looked at her oddly. She saw Thierry do something she'd never seen him do, he smiled. It was a genuine smile of humor and happiness, despite that he still seemed unbelievably melancholy.

She wondered whether he was insane. But then, seeing this as a chance to plead Quinn's case, she said. "Please," her voice was breaking; she was making a fool out of herself. "I mean… "

Quinn said, not helping his own case. "I'm not sorry, silly girl."

"Liar," she shot at him, narrowing her eyes which seemed to have begun to tear up. "You are. You're just too proud to admit it."

Suddenly something rose above her voice and shocked her so much that for a few moments she was rooted to her spot.

Laughter, the genuine kind, filled the air between them, cutting of all that had been malice before. Thierry was laughing. Even Morgead and Quinn looked at the blond boy in surprise, thinking that he had finally crossed the lines to insanity.

"She's right," he said, looking not so much at Quinn than through him. "You really are too proud to admit apology, John."

Quinn was so stunned at being forgiven that he didn't even grumble about his first name being used.

"And anyway," he continued in a slightly insane voice. "I'd be damned if I break my promise to Hannah now."

Sandra felt filled with happiness and gratitude. "Th-thank you," she stuttered. "Thierry."

His name felt odd on her lips. Maybe it was because she'd never imagined such a scenario where she would beg the quiet boy to spare the life of a vampire, maybe because she had an itching feeling to call him 'Milord'. Whatever it was, it made her feel nervous.

Thierry smiled again and said. "We should find the others. They'll have a ball when they see you, Quinn."

"I can't wait." Quinn's voice was taut and dry, but he was smiling.

Then, there was the feeling of friendliness and sweetness in the air that made her feel nice and warm. Morgead, on the other hand, didn't seem too pleased with this arrangement and he tried to not stare at her in disappointment, but she would see it in his eyes whenever she looked at him. Feeling sad and angry at the same time, she decided not to look at him until he acts like his age, which surpassed hers by more than a hundred.

A hundred. Morgead was a vampire.

The realization made her feel stupid. Of course he was a vampire, he said he lived through the Apocalypse, hadn't he? There was not one creature that lived that long unless it was a vampire or a dragon. Suddenly, she began counting her acquaintances. Maggie, Miles, Lupe and Gillian, were all they vampires as well? And if not how do they live?

The questions made her head hurt, so she stopped asking them.

Thierry was leading them into the forest. She watched him as he walked. His gait held a certain charm and was most elegant. She had never noticed that before, probably as she had never observed. He did seem like a Lord, though. The other vampire lords looked very young; her Master seemed to be eighteen year olds, of course, it didn't mean he was eighteen years old. But Thierry, despite his youthful appearance, held himself so that he appeared to be a man of incredible experience.

Soon, Thierry instructed them to stop. Her eyes had become accustomed to the dark and black, but it was nowhere near a vampire's vision. The crescent moon was hidden, probably behind the bushy leaves of trees, and she could see practically nothing. Someone came up to her and took her hand. She immediately recognized the scarred hand as Morgead's.

"We have to climb a tree," he said shortly. "I'll help you."

She nodded wordlessly and let him guide her.

The tree, from what she could gather, was very large, indeed, and quite rough. It had an immense girth and she always had to check for hole or she would've fallen. Thierry and Quinn climbed it easily as their breaths were never shortcoming. Morgead, however, chose to remain behind her and help her when she needed it. She felt an urge to thank the vampire and apologize for disappointing him but she ignored the latter. She did what was right and there was no shame in that.

However, as Morgead helped into a house that's light nearly blinded her, she almost apologized. The light would've been so much worse for Morgead; vampire vision was extremely sensitive to light, but still the vampire held out and helped her in. She muttered a thank you that didn't feel grateful enough, but Morgead had already moved inside the house.

"Where are we?" she heard Quinn moan.

"In a tree house," said a voice she recognized immediately.

"Gillian," she greeted without taking her hands off of her eyes.

It took her a few more moments before she was ready to face the light. The light blinded her momentarily, again, but then slowly everything faded from white to color. Gillian stood in front of her in all her pale-haired and violet-eyed glory, smiling. "It's about time," she said.

"What?" Sandra looked at her.

Gillian waved a hand at Thierry. "We asked him to get you here sooner, but he was being stubborn."

He really doesn't want me, Sandra thought. He hates me.

"Where's Quinn?" she asked lamely, trying to change the subject.

"Here," he said, raising a hand. Quinn had made home inside the tree house already. He was lying on a coach in a lazy sprawl. Miles was standing behind the coach, looking annoyed.

"That's my couch!" he complained.

Quinn didn't bother changing an inch of his sprawl, which took up the whole couch. "I don't see your name on it," he said dismissively.

"It's right there!"

Quinn followed Miles hand. Miles had scratched in his name through the fabric. Quinn frowned before gripping the fabric and ripping it, so that it left a gape from which sponge came out poking. "There," he said, satisfied. "Problem solved."

Miles roared with anger and toppled Quinn over for a wrestling match. They began struggling against each other on the ground, muttering curses and insults to each other. It reminded her of the fight outside between him and Morgead and she tried to step between them, but the violet-eyed girl stopped her, rolling her eyes. "Don't worry about them. They're just being boys."

"And ruining my property," Thierry added worriedly.

Gillian giggled and waved Sandra to follow. Sandra, who couldn't believe that Quinn was actually playing, didn't respond and had to be reminded with a clap of Gillian's hands. She followed her as she went into greater depths inside the tree house.

Then, she remembered why she was here. "Oh, I forgot to tell you. Venom's dead."

Sandra looked at Gillian, startled, when the girl gasped. She had her hand over her mouth and began crying. A cry of sadeness and loss that mader her feel heartless. Sandra rocked back on her heels awkwardly. She tried to comfort her. "It's alright, Gillian. We all have to die someday."

That wasn't very comforting. "But… Venom!" Gillian said, crying more loudly.

Maggie was first to arrive, her saber in her hand. Sandra despised the auburn haired girl and she despised her as well. Now, she had a sly look on her scarred face, probably because she had a reason to kill her. She took one look at Gillian and, without bothering to comfort her, skewered Sandra with a dark gaze.

"What did you do?" she said, her tone smug.

"Nothing!" Sandra tried to excuse herself, watching the bloodied end of Maggie's saber. "I just told her that Venom died."

Maggie seemed to have lost all thoughts of killing her. Her eyes flew wide open, narrowed and, then, closed. Her mouth quivered for some time before being pressed into a thin line. She brought a hand to her forehead, trying to control her emotions, which were flashing through her face; outrage, anger, hurt and sadness, Sandra saw her enemy more vulnerable than she'd ever wished to.

And she felt merciless for not crying over the loss of Venom.

Maggie removed the hand from her face, opened her eyes and glared at her. "How do I know you're not lying?"

"Why would I want to lie?" Sandra said curtly.

"I don't know," Maggie admitted, her body seeming to be stiff from built up tension. "Maybe you should tell me."

"I heard crying. What's going on?" Morgead's voice taut and curt, he was obviously here for more than Gillian's crying.

Sandra was grateful for Morgead interference, surely another word out of her mouth and Maggie would've killed her. Now Maggie was relaxing into a less threatening position, but still poised enough to attack her if she wanted. She looked at Morgead emotionlessly.

"Morgead," Maggie greeted. "Sandra's upset Gillian, I'm afraid."

Morgead looked Sandra in alarm

"I didn't say anything," she defended herself. "I just told her that Venom died."

She'd never realized Venom had so many friends.

Morgead looked at her, shock and hurt apparent in his eyes. When he spoke, his voice seemed quiet and hallow; nothing like his usual cynical tone. "How did she die?"

"A Dragon, I'm guessing. A few people from my village had seen her clothes in a bloodied mess."

At the mere mention of the details, Gillian closed her eyes and tried very hard to lessen her sobs. Maggie moved forward to comfort her and, some while later, they turned away and went, leaving Sandra staring after them.

She looked at Morgead, whose eyes held a darker shadow than usual. His dark circles seemed to be more pronounced and his jaw was set in a firm line. She'd seen him like this occasionally; when he would talk about the war or Jez's death. And every time, it made her shiver and withdraw from him.

But she didn't withdraw this time. "I never realized you guys liked her so much."

To her surprise, Morgead smiled bleakly. "What's not to like about her?"

_Everything,_ Sandra thought disdainfully. _Her sarcasm, her devil-may-care attitude and even her damn bandana._ But Morgead seemed to take no notice of her inner disdain.

"She was a vampire, you know," Morgead looked at her slyly, as if sharing some secret. "Through and through. But she'd never admit it."

"Stubborn as you vampires are," Sandra rolled her eyes.

Morgead only smiled at her and still continued. "She reminded me of Jez. A lot."

"And that's why you really liked her."

But Morgead didn't respond, having seemed to have gone to some faraway land. "You remind of Jez too. But that's because you're so different from us. We had to be cautious around you; you play by the rules too much."

Sandra balled her hands into fists so hard that her nails bit into her skin. She couldn't believe that Morgead suggested she was playing by the rules. Even if a whiff, a rumor or so, of this would spread across the village, she would be dead before it reached the last pair of ears. She was risking everything she had, admittedly not much, though; and here he stood before her, insolently telling her that she was too abiding.

She opened her mouth to oppose the ridiculous statement, but Morgead spoke first and, damn him for it, praised her so carefully that she wasn't angry with him anymore.

"You're risking you're life, I respect that," he said, coming out of his faraway land and becoming more transfixed on her. "And for you, or any living human, it would be all that they could give. But you are rule abiding, compared to our standards."

Feeling rather happy at earning the Morgead Blackthorn's respect, she relaxed, as in stopped her nails from rending her flesh, and asked him about whom these people that he announced to belong to are and what are their standards.

"We're Damned Daybreakers," he concluded simply.

She shook her head. "What are Daybreakers?"

"They are witches, humans, vampires, werewolves, shapeshiters, flies, centipedes and just about everyone and everything that wants to live in peace and harmony… to a certain degree," he added as wrestling noises soon rose from behind them. "Basically, we may hate each other, as do Quinn and I, but we don't want to kill each other."

"But why do you hate Quinn?"

Morgead adjusted his collar uncomfortably. "Uh… It's quite a bit of a mouthful."

She narrowed her eyes. "That's not an excuse."

He shrugged. "True. But it isn't just my story to tell, you know. In short, though, he's a conniving bastard."

"Don't worry. I hate him too."

"You do?" called the hated one dramatically. "Oh whatever shall I do?"

Sandra turned her head to see Quinn looking up with a hand over his heart as if he'd been deeply hurt. He staggered inside drunkenly and looked at her . She had to smack his arm to bring him out of his act.

"Where's Miles?" she asked.

"He's wallowing over the loss of his couch."

"Theirry?"

"He's wallowing over the loss of his couch's value."

Of course, they probably weren't doing that.

A moment of silence hung over them; none were willing to break it. Morgead was staring out the window, looking grim. Quinn inspected his fingernails. Sandra tried to watch them without letting them know that she was watching them. But of course they knew, she was just a clumsy human in front of vampires with years of experience.

Suddenly, Morgead snapped out of his reverie and his whipped to Quinn, whose eyes narrowed intently. Morgead gave Sandra an odd sort of look. "I'm sure you'll be able to find your way back through the forest. The villagers are waiting for you."

It was the clumsiest act she'd ever seen from a vampire. But Morgead didn't care as he gathered his legs and, after a meaningful look at Quinn, took off, shooting to his destination. Quinn saluted her mockingly, again, and ran after him, disappearing into a darkness that left Sandra standing breathless.

_What the heck just happened?_

A/N: I feel as if I ruined this thing. The last moments were far too quick. I don't have much time since my exams are rising from the dead. But I will do my best to update. I'll probably edit this later, though.


	4. Chapter 4

A/N It seems that Sandra failed to gain favor with at least one reviewer and I'm sure that there are more, I love to hear whether people hate or like my characters, I don't force them upon readers. But I should make it clear that I don't intend to turn Sandra into some sort of heroic idiot, devil-may-care rogue, or ass-kicking witch. She's not a hero, she's not a villain, she's the onlooker, she's the girl people save and that's why she's my narrator. While reading Night World, among other things, the heroics done by the protagnists were interesting, most certainly. But I have this wild imagination and I wondered what it would be like if I were there; I'd probably the passerby. So you can call Sandra a Mary Sue or a Self-Insert. You don't have to like her, dear reader, as I'm not sure whether I like her for most of the time or not.

I would have to say, that review did have an affect on the outcome of this one. FanFiction is one of the things I make as I go, so I'm open to any possibilities. However, I apologize for the size and the long wait. I was busy between sleep and studies. My finals are rallying upon me. I hate posting something unedited. But this'll have to do.

Chapter 4:

Sandra, left in the harrowing darkness of a tree house in a forest that was owned by her vampire master, was, to say the least, peeved at being deserted so unsubtly and so abruptly. Nobody in this tree house had been the very least kind enough to acknowledge her and her presence and now she was to walk alone to her village… and she had a very bad sense of direction.

She tried to weave her way through the wooden house, doing her best, but failing, to avoid bumping into furniture or falling through a hole in this wreck of house. She called out to Gillian, Morgead and even Maggie; any familiar face would do for the moment. But they had seemed to disappear and leave her to complain about the lack of need of her. It certainly felt horrible knowing that you weren't needed, but Sandra gritted her teeth and bore it. She wasn't a hero, but she was a survivor.

But now she knew why exactly she was unneeded. Heroics were the topic of discussion when she put her ear to the door with voices wafting out of. She pursed her lips while she did what she didn't approve of; eavesdropping.

"But that's ridiculous!" a voice called abruptly, Quinn's.

The one to enlighten her of what was so ridiculous was Theirry. "Quinn, we were thinking about this for a time now. I believe that it's best to start the rebellion now."

Rebellion? They're talking about fighting the dragons and vampire.

This seemed much more formal than anything she had ever said or thought about. For one thing, it seemed real.

"My arrival changes nothing," Quinn said and she could imagine him scowling to go alongside that tone.

"On the contrary," Maggie. "It changes everything."

"How?" Morgead should be lounging on his chair right about now as he always settles into a relaxed, lazy position when something is probing his mind.

By now a scene was unfurling in her mind without her direction. She didn't imagine she knew them well enough to know how they positioned themselves when using a certain tone. But the scene in her mind seemed to be unbelievably realistic. She imagined them sitting around a table; Theirry in front, looking solemn and deep and every bit of a leader; Morgead somewhere halfway through the table, looking as devil-may-care as he does when he actually does care; Maggie on Theirry's left, sitting in her half-relaxed half-rigid position as she usually did; Miles would be beside Maggine, with his brows furrowed and his hand fiddling with something; and on Theirry's right would be Lupe, the brindled wolf that she couldn't see doing anything that's remotely threatening.

Quinn would now have to be standing near the door, as his voice was extremely close that it almost made her scream.

"Very easily so, Morgead," Maggie said as if talking to a small child. "Quinn is a Lord. Quinn knows other Lords. Quinn knows Dragons. Quinn knows secrets."

Shockingly so, Morgead did not throw a tantrum at Maggie's patronizing tones. Instead, she thought she heard him 'hmmmm'

Oh damn, they're serious.

"Quinn does not know secrets," said the one who spoke of himself in third person terms. "Dragons do not like sharing."

"Quinn, Maggie," Theirry said. "That's enough."

"However, Quinn," Maggie said, her voice returning to its normal coldness. "You have a better shot at it than anyone else."

Quinn had other ideas. "Ash could probably do it He's smart, really, when he puts his mind to it."

"But Ash's not here," Maggie's voice was patient.

She heard Quinn drag out a sigh and say in a quick, agitated. "I don't want to spy."

"Too bad," Sandra could hear Maggie smirk. "Life's tough, isn't it?"

"Maggie," Theirry said and Sandra had an image of the Lord of the Night World trying to restrain a wild Maggie.

In fact, she couldn't be farther from the truth. Maggie, on the other side of the door, was less than happy at Quinn's arrival that furthered her distaste for the human girl. But she would not be wildly thirsting for his blood, even if he brought back extremely painful memories. But she would be very, very savage to him.

Though, at Theirry's retribution, who even she followed, her tone went back from snarky and savage to cold, unemotional and realistic just as she preferred to think of herself. She barely resembled the old, teen aged Maggie now, not even physically because of the scars she had gotten after a particularly fierce encounter with werewolves that left Delos moaning for days.

Delos… he would frown, if he saw her like this; probably cry for another measure of days, even though the tough, golden-eyed vampire prince never really cried. Aradia, the doe-eyed Maiden of all witches, would probably look down at her in her genteel way. Jeanne would have been proud.

Pushing away the feeling of lost and grieve over her friends, Maggie turned towards the bad-tempered looking Quinn, who tried to skewer her eyes with a fierce glare of his own. "Listen, Quinn," she said, her voice a perfect blend of indifference and brusqueness. "I'm not giving you a choice here. You're going spy for us, it's the only way to win our trust back."

"Our trust, Maggie?" Max asked mockingly, at the end of the table.

She turned to glare at the vampire. "Mine, at least."

Max gave her a roguish leer before turning to Quinn, an old time friend and nemesis (Vampires, it seems, could never have vampire friend who are not nemeses of some or other sort), of his. "However, it all really comes down to Theirry."

Maggie, and everyone else, turned to the blond vampire, who seemed to have been watching silently and passively. But Maggie, and pretty much ever else here, knew that Theirry was not passive when he would appear to be. In fact, he was not passive at all.

He straightened his spine and looked at Quinn solemnly. "I'm sorry to say, Quinn. But this is necessary."

Maggie could feel Quinn's urge to rip off her smirk. However, he clasped his hands tightly behind his back, looked at Theirry with only the most prestigious and grave looks to have ever been upon an immortal's face and nodded. This was so dramatic that Max fell out of his chair laughing.

Laughing? Who's laughing? were Sandra's thought as she pressed up more closely to the door. She had heard that tone before; mirthless, forced tone that no human would forget, that it was, but never that damned voice. Suddenly the picture inside her head was dissolving, shattered by this nuisance of a man, most certainly a man, and his voice.

"I don't' think I find this as enjoyable as you do," Quinn said in that delicate, soft voice he had used with her earlier in the night, obviously more than just slightly peeved.

Earlier in the night? That seemed to have been an age ago.

Now that she was well-informed about her surplus persona, Venom's friends and the factualness of the rebellion, her petty village life seemed to be a world away, cowering behind the glimmer of hope of change, rebellion and happiness.

Such joyful words they were, but they couldn't find refuge for too long in a cynic's mind… that is to say her mind. But every day one learns something new, and today she learned, despite all of the above, that even the cynical, snarky Maggie was willing to entertain such an idea far longer than her. Questions and doubts were filtering through her head, each one taking a good swipe with a knife at the candle that held the glimmer of hope. But this…? But that…? The werewolves? The dragons? The vampires?

There were so many questions that not one could form a coherent form.

Maggie, who has proved that she is more optimistic than the human, said something that shocked her further more. "But what about Sandra?"

Morgead growled in the back. "What about her?"

"Oh relax, you fool," Maggie said; it seemed that Morgead was much too used to Maggie's insults and wouldn't throw a tantrum, if not, then, he was extremely preoccupied with the matter at hand. "I don't want to kill her," a snort from Morgead and her own was frightened into the depth of her throat as to not alert them. "I mean she can't fight, but she'll probably good for one thing or the other."

A silence followed the comment while Sandra rejoiced in her own right. Maggie didn't hate her! Well she may have, but she believed her to be useful! To a lesser degree than a fighter nonetheless.

Sandra wondered about whether her mind wanted her to be happy. Then, she wondered about her sanity. Eventually, though, she had to be dragged out of her analysis as someone spoke again.

"Maggie, we're not telling Sandra," said the patronizing tone of Thierry Descouedres. "Such a human shouldn't be dragged into rebellion when she clearly has no advantage or win."

Maggie seemed to voice the outrage that her heart felt, and Sandra had never felt quite so close to the girl. "But the girl has a right to know! She can be just as useful as Quinn here."

"Not just as," said the unidentified man's voice. "Quinn would be running circles with dragons; she would be running circles with peasantry."

"But still," Maggie said.

"Calm down, Maggie," Thierry said. "She'll probably get killed any way."

"You know," said the man's voice and her mind's eye saw a face with nothing but a smirk, "Someone could probably answer this question the best. And that someone is at the door."


End file.
